The New Elvis by Wyborn Senna Page A

coverlet. “How do you do it?” That was the first thing she said, and he didn’t know what she meant.
    “Get better looking every goddamn year?” she continued, when she saw his blank expression.
    Ryan blushed and pointed to the chair at her white desk.
    Bea nodded, so he went and sat down.
    “You’ve seen me at school.”
    She waved her hand. “In passing.”
    “But you never look at me.”
    “You never look at me.”
    They sat there in silence while Ryan looked around the room. The flowers he’d brought were now on her dresser, which faced the foot of her bed. Ryan sniffed the air but couldn’t detect any scent. Maybe they were too far away.
    “I’m sorry.”
    Bea frowned. “Sorry we haven’t talked since junior high?”
    Ryan shrugged and pulled at his collar to straighten it. “Kincaid.”
    “Kincaid means nothing. Have you seen me with him at all? Come on, Ryan, it’s been years. Have you seen me date anyone?”
    “No.”
    “Make out with anyone in the halls?”
    He shook his head, chastened.
    “Did you know I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis when I was a freshman? That I’ve had this sucky disease for two years now?”
    Ryan’s throat closed. He couldn’t speak. She was the best girl he had ever known. The only girl he had ever kissed or held hands with. And that one night, he had felt so betrayed he never wanted to see her again.
    “Now that you know I’m sick, though,” she said, “you feel sorry for me.”
    “I am.” He paused. “Sorry you’re sick.”
    She let out a sudden, explosive laugh that caused him to jump. “Oh, it’s fine, it’s fine. The drugs are great.”
    Ryan knew her well enough to know she was bluffing. He came over and sat on her bed. He reached out for her hand. She looked at him, startled, and then placed her hand in his upturned palm. He interlaced their fingers and gave her hand a firm squeeze.
    “Tell me about it.”
    Bea burst into big, blubbery tears that caused her nose to run. She had held so much in for so long and hadn’t let anyone in. Hadn’t had him. Now he held her close, not minding the tears and the snot dampening his shoulder. He would hold her as long as it took, and he would not let go. Finally, the tears abated, and Bea stared up at him, her blue eyes luminous.
    He stroked her hair back from her face. They were both sixteen, and their childhood affection had taken a sharp turn into a sexual realm. Her sandy blond curls had grown past her shoulders to the middle of her back, and oftentimes, she let her hair hang free instead of tying it back or up. He tilted her chin upward and gave her a long, deep kiss far different from the innocent pecks he’d dared to give her in junior high. She was a woman now, and her breasts were full. He cupped one in his hand and felt giddy and then, just as suddenly, he dropped his hand. She was sick. He shouldn’t be thinking about sex. “Tell me about it.”
    She looked at him, confused by his pulling back.
    He grinned. “We have plenty of time later to catch up in other departments. I want to know exactly what you’re going through.”
    Bea’s mother had always told her Ryan was mature beyond his years, and now she thought she understood. Most boys wanted to dive right into heavy petting. Ryan was different—he cared about her heart. She stared up at the canopy over her bed, an expanse of frilly ruffles that made her feel as if they were sitting beneath a peach sky.
    “I’m in pain all the time. My bones hurt so badly in my legs and arms, I just want to scream. Today I’ve taken plenty of meds, so I can hold your hand without wanting to rip your head off. But look.” She rolled up the sleeve of her camouflage patterned thermal shirt and showed him a series of bumps. Those are rheumatoid nodules. Aren’t they gross?”
    She glanced at him, and he shook his head that, no, they weren’t.
    “I get up in the morning and can barely move I’m so stiff. I’m tired all the time. My head is always